12 Feet High

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this not because of prison life in reality, but a prison in your mind. Sometimes you get locked away in your head, and you can't seem to escape yourself. It's like having a prison in your own mind.

Submitted: February 04, 2007

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Submitted: February 04, 2007

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Every day same routine,
same clothes, food, and racket.
Stripes always look so mean,
except for the occassional straightjacket.

Barred in like animals,
we live our lives.
Each day is more pitiful,
as we sharpen our knives.

Fences twelve feet high,
guard mounted towers.
I wish I'd just die,
mount my casket with flowers.

Escape is not an option,
tried and convicted.
Serving ten to twenty-five,
demonically infected.

Break my chains,
free my soul.
From where my foes reign,
and where every breath takes its toll.


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